


tiny cities

by spacebubble



Series: ( selections ) [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e15 Will you take my hand, Ficlet, Gen, Missing Scene, Slice of Life, just a lil something not totally rolling around in angst for once. you know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble
Summary: Bonus scene for the season 1 finale. Michael and Saru sit on a bench by the Seine and eat some macarons. They chat about a few things, avoid discussing other things, and relax a little before the ceremony.





	tiny cities

**Author's Note:**

> The crew didn't really get much of a break in the latter half of the finale, did they? I'd like to think they had at least some free time to chill out in Paris for a bit, and indulge in a little shore leave sightseeing. 
> 
> Also, I wanted at least one more scene of Michael and Saru companionably sharing food :3 and to address a few loose threads...

The light afternoon drizzle feels good on Michael's face as she walks through the streets. 

Michael likes the rain. She mostly associates it with the vaguest memories of her early childhood on Earth: abstract images of calm and peace, nature flourishing freely, and a refreshing clean feeling. 

She finds Saru sitting on old wooden bench overlooking the Seine. He's nibbling on something he takes out of a pale pastel blue box as he gazes out onto the water. The bench, and Saru, remains dry, covered by a barely visible force field that diverts the rain as it falls, as if someone had placed a magical umbrella approximately a meter above Saru's head.

As Michael approaches, she can see that Saru's nibbling on a series of small round cookies, sandwiched by various fillings. Each confection is a different color than the one before, and all look elegant. 

"Oh, Michael!" Saru gestures to the space next to him on the bench. "Please, sit."

She does. 

"I'm surprised you're out in the rain," Saru says. "It's such a stark departure from the typical Vulcan climate."

Michael smiles. "I was raised on Vulcan, but my preferences aren't necessarily those of the typical Vulcan."

"Of course, of course." Saru primly crosses his long legs to give her more room, perpetually conscious of his height difference, careful not to take up more space than necessary.

Michael nods towards the box. "What are those?" 

For a brief moment, Saru looks conflicted, as if debating whether or not to tell her, but then he holds out the box. "Macarons. Try one."

A flash of memory - Saru despairing on Pahvo - makes Michael pause before reaching in. "You got the box for yourself, didn't you." 

"Yes, well." He shrugs. "I always make sure to get enough to share."

He does. She remembers one of their wilderness drills, Saru's careful rationing taking more than just himself into account, always. 

"They're unreplicated," he adds, as if that was ever a concern. "It's such a pleasant change of pace, eating food made from actual _ingredients_. Most of the flavors derive from earth botanicals."

Michael examines the array of macarons in the box. She selects a rose-colored one, admires the contrast between the darker red ganache and the lighter pink on either side, then glances back up at Saru, who is delicately nibbling on a tan-colored macaron.

The confection is small enough to fit into his mouth whole, yet he still persists in nibbling. Her eyes crinkle in amusement.

Saru notices her observation, and the conflicted look returns - he always did get nervous whenever she looked at him without saying anything - but it passes. 

"I prefer to eat them slowly," Saru explains. "Extends the experience."

"Of course," Michael replies. She takes a small bite out of her macaron, then raises her eyebrow at the unexpected taste of raspberry. "It's sweeter than I expected."

"Oh, you can try the sesame if you want something milder." Saru gestures towards a pleasantly beige option. 

"No, this is good." She takes another bite, larger this time, relishing the mixture of textures and flavor. 

They eat and talk for a while, looking out at the river. 

Michael tends to prefer conversations that travel towards a purpose, that get to the point, but she's had her fill of purposeful dialogue lately. For once, the conversation doesn't have to be about anything in particular. It's oddly liberating, even relaxing. 

Saru also likes the rain, and the Seine. Bodies of water tend to comfort him, though whether that's a typical Kelpien trait, or simply a Saru trait, remains a mystery. Michael suspects it's a mixture of both, but she's learned not to ask unless Saru introduces the topic first.

Most of their crewmates have opted for the indoors, or are out exploring other parts of the city. This respite from their recent adventures has been long awaited, and welcome. 

Life continues all around them. The streets bristle with energy, yet it all feels strangely calm and sedate, compared to recent events. Ships and other smaller craft fly overhead as the afternoon light wanes. Michael thinks about how most of those ships are simply resuming their everyday course, no longer disrupted by the threat of the Klingon war.

Peace feels surreal, ephemeral. Michael relishes the mundane serenity, as simple and soothing as the confection in her palm.

She wishes Philippa were here. Philippa would enjoy this. Her Philippa, at least. But perhaps the other Philippa, running wild and free, might also surprise her...

She snaps back to attention when Saru mentions the delight of seeing preserved architecture from the age of Hugo and Dumas. Michael hadn't expected him to care about old Terran stories that much, and he gives her a vaguely baleful look - he wasn't a devotee by any means, but he had been introduced to them during his Academy years, and he liked them well enough. Besides, there's something reassuring about the knowledge that these old structures persist, and that the predatory side of human history didn't always predominate. 

"No offense," Saru quickly adds.

Michael rolls her eyes almost just as quickly as she tells him, "None taken." 

But she smiles. Saru's not usually this forthcoming about personal trivia, and there was barely an attempt to tie it in with his Kelpien instincts. She wonders if he's ever read Carroll. Improbable, but not entirely implausible.

Eventually they're almost done with the entire box, and Michael pauses before reaching in once more.

"Did you want to bring some back to the Discovery?"

"No, please." He tilts the box towards her, and she removes a jade-colored macaron. It tastes like jasmine green tea, mingled with a near-cloying sweetness - some form of chocolate, Michael supposes. "I believe they'll taste better here, in our current environment. But thank you for asking." 

He chews thoughtfully on a salted macaron. Michael can see the granules, and she wrinkles her nose minutely. Approximately half of the macarons were salted, as per Saru's usual preferences. Michael made sure to leave those for him. 

"The patisserie should still be open for a few more hours. Do you think the ambassador would like..." Saru catches himself, shakes his head slightly. "Never mind."

Perplexed, Michael scrutinizes him. "Sarek tends not to deviate from his usual meal routine. Why would you -"

"Never mind, Michael." Saru quickly finishes off the last of the macaron in his hand, then peers back into the box, deliberately avoiding eye contact. "There's one left."

Not entirely certain where the cut-off thread of thought had been leading, Michael nudges him on the arm. "Why do you care what Sarek likes?"

"I don't," Saru says airily, still not meeting her eyes. "The last macaron is unsalted, would you like it?"

She raises her eyebrow. "Are you trying to bribe me, Saru?"

"Michael, please." He sighs more showily than necessary. "I'm simply trying to be courteous. It's lavender, by the way."

Michael's unfamiliar with the flavor, but the violet shade is appealing, so she reaches in and selects it, then brings it close to her face for a sniff. Pleasant, lightly floral. A hint of spice. The aromatics remind her of nighttime on Vulcan, and crisp evening air. 

She bends the macaron until it splits in two, then hands the other half to Saru, who accepts with a delicate flourish of the hand. The gesture eerily resembles the other Saru on the Emperor's ship. 

Michael blinks, then glances away quickly. 

They finish the last macaron in silence, and Michael watches the raindrops mist the tips of their boots. 

"Saru?"

"Yes?"

"Have you and Sarek had the chance to..." She pauses, uncertain how to broach the subject, then says it as plainly as she can. "...Discuss the meld?"

Saru almost fumbles with the box, then clings onto it as if it were an anchor. "Oh, I wouldn't want to bother him with something so trivial. He and the Lady Amanda don't have many opportunities to travel to the Sol system, and she hasn't seen Paris in ages."

Michael's about to ask how Saru would know, then chalks it up to a possible aftereffect of the meld. 

"It's not trivial," she replies. "Vulcan mind melds aren't meant to be used as... identification tools. And you didn't have any say in the matter." 

"Well, desperate times, and so forth," Saru replies glibly. His skin doesn't change color - she's never seen him blush - but Saru has a habit of tilting his head at a certain angle when he's embarrassed, and she recognizes the tilt now.

"Besides, my mother's quite capable of enjoying the city on her own." Michael leans back on the bench. "You wouldn't be interfering with her vacation if you had a talk with him."

Saru nods. "Good to know."

"A spontaneous mind meld between a Vulcan and a Kelpien has to be unprecedented," Michael speculates, already wondering about the possible residual effects. It helps distract her from thinking about the other Sarek left behind on the planet, and whether he had managed to escape the rebel base in time. 

A quiet click. Saru glances back up at her, straightening his head. 

"I don't doubt that's the case," he says evenly, "but I..." Another click. "We'll see."

His fingers lightly tap on the structured paper box in his hands, fidgeting just enough to indicate his interest in changing the subject, but Michael can't think of another subject. 

So she looks around at the misting rain, the lights beginning to glow in response to the darkening sky. How the city might look from above, diminishing in size until it resembled a constellation, then a pinprick of light, then nothing at all.

Saru clears his throat, moves to stand. "We should start heading back. You'll need some time to prepare your speech for the ceremony."

"I've already written it," Michael replies matter-of-factly. 

He sighs. "Of course you have. And committed it to memory, I presume?"

She grins. "I have."

"Typical Burnham," Saru says, but there's no longer the old ring of irritation that used to accompany such a statement - in fact, he seems more amused than anything else, perhaps comforted by the familiarity of Michael's work ethic. "I expected nothing less."

She stands up, putting her only slightly above a sitting Saru's eye level, and steps away from the bench. "We could walk past the Cathedral. The gargoyles should look particularly interesting in the current light."

Saru stands up as well, box perched on his hip, ready to deposit in the nearest replicator fuel recycler. 

"You know about the gargoyles?" he asks, pleasantly surprised.

Michael nods. "I made sure to brief myself about the city before we landed."

"This wasn't a first contact scenario, Michael." 

She shrugs. "Might as well be." She nods her head towards the opposite side of the river, where the old cathedral looms, imposing and striking as ever. "Come on."

The rain continues to fall as they walk away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [end credits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_6In1gr36A) & title inspo. :)


End file.
